My charming kids are trying to have me killed. They are trying to kill me TO DEATH by putting my name down for a so-called 'fun run' organised by Dorchester Lions Club, where I am expected to run several miles, have fun, keel over with a heart attack and collect money for charity.
I'm on a hiding to nothing as I have – somewhat foolishly in a moment of pizza-deficient weakness – agreed to take part. Either the short, round, red-faced, forty-something journalist takes part in this certainly fatal race, or the organisers come round and set their lion on me as a short, round, red-faced, forty-something tasty snack.
So: next Sunday (Aaargh! NEXT SUNDAY!), while normal people will be taking part in the walk in the park that is the London Marathon, I shall be pounding round the streets of our county town in a Chelsea football shirt (the publicity blurb encourages runners to arrive in fancy dress - I'll be taking part as a wanker) and almost-brand-new white trainers begging spectators to strike me down out of mercy.
And all this for charity, which is where I now post a cunningly-worded invitation to part you from your hard-earned:
GIVE ME YOUR MONEY
Sponsorship money will be split between the Dorchester Lions Club (and I sincerely hope they get enough for a new lion) and the charity of my choice.
Finding that I cannot accept cheques made out to Caring Assistance for the Scaryduck Household (CASH for short), I will instead be offering my services to Cancer Research UK, who are very excellent.
For the purposes of internet donations, I've set up a page on the Just Giving website, so you can give me genuine cash money and claim Gift Aid tax relief without the unpleasantness of coming round waving a sponsorship form in your face and threatening you with a recently deceased lion.
IT IS HERE
My target is modest. After all, I'm not walking, Mosher-style, halfway across Europe. A hundred of the Queen's pounds and I'll be a happy man.
I am
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